welcome to chimera!

[John Homme]

The rain had been tapping away all day, it seemed; John personally didn't know for certain though, because he'd been asleep for most of it. It was around half past one by the time he'd stumbled down from his dormitory, hair looking uncombed - it might have been the humidity that curled it so, but one would also be inclined to believe he actually hadn't combed it yet. Looking every bit like he had just rolled out of bed, he rubbed his face hard and breathed in audibly through his nose. Enjoying the warm fog of sleepiness still, he scanned the common room, which was unusually dim for this time of day. It was dreary and quiet, seeming to match the weather; hardly aware he was doing so, John pulled his sweater around him more tightly and tried to find a way to waste the rest of his Sunday.

Lucky for him, he happened upon someone he knew well enough to sit with, and he did so without asking. Dropping into a seat beside a dark haired boy, a sixth year he got along with quite well, he smiled a little lopsidedly at him. He hardly took in whatever books might have been around the other, being far too distracted in stifling a yawn into the crook of his arm; still smiling, he nodded his greeting. "Afternoon, Damocles," he mumbled, voice still a little thick with sleep, even after he'd cleared his throat. "How are you?"

[Damocles Belby]

He spent the morning slipping between awake and asleep, though each time his wakefulness was groggy and short-lived. The rain tapping rhythmically against the dormitory windows was hardly a motivating force to get out of bed. He couldn't really be blamed for wanting a lazy Sunday, having spent the most part of his Saturday evening debating the importance of muggle sciences with Rufford in the common room (a debate that had been quite illuminating, actually). It was hardly a surprise that the two boys had left off on a tangent, discussing all manner of things into the early morning, and leaving their debate rather unfinished when they did finally decide to turn in for the evening.

It was about midday when he finally peeled himself out of his covers, making it down to the Great Hall just in time for a spot of lunch before he decided to retire to the common room again. The dreary weather sapped him of any motivation or inspiration he might have been struck by, and he found himself sinking into one of the thick armchairs with a book that he had acquired from Slughorn sometime during the past week. It was good of the old man, really, to personally lend him a book on the off-chance that it would peak his interest - which it quite obviously did, that was no real surprise.

And that was that for his afternoon. Rugged up in a sweater and track-pants, hair uncombed and positively frightful, slumped in an armchair and a book propped against his knees it wasn't until John greeted him that he stirred. Greeting his friend with a very characteristically large grin he lifted his eyes from the text, letting it slide further down his legs lazily. "Afternoon - not terrible, that's for sure. Yourself, mate?"

[John Homme]

"Tired," John answered good-humoredly, and took to furiously rubbing at his face in an effort to wake himself. Though it didn't work spectacularly well, he felt a little better after doing so -- or at least less itchy around the eyes. It wasn't until he'd a hand tangled halfway through his hair that he became truly aware though, and he opened his mouth for a moment. Mind blanking briefly in surprise at himself, he mouthed uselessly. Fumbling slightly, the painter sat himself up properly, hand finally dropping to his lap as he cleared his throat.

"Sorry, were you -- studying or...?" he said, and trailed off for a moment or two. "Sorry."

[Damocles Belby]

Whilst shifting into a more comfortable position he took the chance to stretch out, arching his back and stretching his arms out long until there was a satisfying crack in his lower back. Relaxing back into a slump, completely unaware of his bad posture, he grinned lethargically across at the other boy. There was nothing like a rainy day to really sap the energy right out of someone, he thought off-handedly.

At the question about studying he chuckled, shaking his head and lifting the book so that it’s cover page was on display – though great lot of good that would have done, given that the title was worn to the point that it took a keen eye and a close up to actually determine what it said. ”Oh, no! Just a bit of light reading. Dreary day, eh?”

[John Homme]

After a moment's hesitation, during which he looked mildly alarmed at not being able to read the title of the book, John was satisfied with this explanation and nodded. He might've questioned the boy's definition of light reading, had he not been so accustomed to Percy's reading habits; most things were light in comparison to a lapful of the complete works of William Shakespeare. Sort of assuming that it was potions, John made no move to ask further -- he wasn't very good with potions, and had little desire to display his inadequacies.

Relaxing again, pulling his sweater around him again, he nodded a bit. Not one particularly well-suited to inclement weather, he normally found that he was more affected by cold than others. Folding his arms and drawing himself into the corner of his chair, he tried for a smile. "It's cold," he commented, trying hard not to whine. "I don't think I'll ever be used to this."

[Damocles Belby]

Had he been someone less, well, Damocles he might have caught on to what John meant immediately. As it were it took him a moment to catch on, and in that moment he cocked his head curiously before he remembered that John hadn’t exactly grown up in the Scottish country side. Of course.

“Oh – yeah? What were your winters like growing up?” His curious expression was joined by a rather goofy grin. For all his academic knowledge he was, quite honestly, rather uninformed about the world outside his textbooks and subject areas. Yet to see anywhere outside of the United Kingdom he did have that same thirst to travel that he assumed most teenagers did, nearing the end of their education – but he really didn’t have a clue about any of the places that he craved trips to, save for the rare potions ingredients they were home to or the ancient scholars they had birthed.

[John Homme]

Shrugging a shoulder absently, drawn into vaguity and thoughtfulness by the question about home, John nearly smiled. "Mild," he answered, at length, and finally he did smile when he caught sight of Damocles' grin. Sinking further into a slouch, though his arms stayed folded tight and holding onto his sweater, John glanced out the window of the tower. "Hardly even frosted over," he added, and then looked back to Damocles. "Where are you from?" he returned, a bit abruptly.

[Damocles Belby]

"England - in the north-west," apparently not bothered by the abrupt question he answered simply enough before distracting himself with another avenue of conversation, "Are you still in the art club this year?" His gaze followed Johns and drifted to the window as he sunk down further into his chair, dangling his legs over the arm, unphased as the legs of his pants lifted and his ankles were exposed to the cooler air.

[John Homme]

Nodding thoughtfully, John raised his eyebrows slightly at the return question, and there was a hint of nervousness about him again when he went to reply. "Yes - they've - they actually made me president," he answered, perhaps a bit uneasily. The reminder was rather an unwanted one; he'd been procrastinating on figuring out what to do for their first meeting since - well, since summer. "I, um - I have no idea what I'm doing," he admitted, comfortable doing so because it was Damocles. As John often did, he even let out a very quiet laugh at his own expense, though he didn't find his predicament very funny at all. "And you're heading Potions Club?" he inquired, genuinely curiously.

[Damocles Belby]

“Oh? Congratulations!” His eyebrows had raised and his eyes widened in genuine surprise; not because he did not think John capable of heading the art club, but because he knew so little about the other clubs that Hogwarts offered that it really was new news to him.

His grin had broadened, and when John admitted that he knew about as much about heading the art club as he did about heading the potions club Damocles chuckled in an all too understanding way. Tugging at one of the curlier parts of his fringe he nodded enthusiastically, his grin still fixed on his face, "Yeah I am - I, er, almost forgot about it if I'm being honest." A tinge of pink coloured his cheeks but admitting his slip of memory to John was not the least bit awkward - quite unlike when he had had to do so after being contacted by the clubs vice-president. "Have you started meetings yet?"

[John Homme]

Not quite managing to thank him, perhaps too wrapped up in picking at a bit of lint on his sweater, John kept his eyes averted. It ended up being a loose thread though and, after pulling it a bit, he decided it would be wise to stop before he pulled a hold right in his elbow. Finally, he looked up again, and had to smile at the sight of how broad and infectious Damocles' grin was. "I've been thinking about it all summer," he admitted, sighing a little. "But we're not having our first meeting until next week. I've just been - putting it off," he sighed and folded his arms again. "What about you?"

[Damocles Belby]

“That’s more than I can say,” his smile and enthusiasm was typical of him. Shifting in his seat, unaware of his fidgeting, he considered the limited thought that he had put into the Potions Club. In the past he had been both an avid and an enthusiastic member - he rarely missed a meeting and was almost on time on occasion, which by his standards was saying quite a bit. When he had taken on the Presidency he had not realised that his enthusiasm for the art of potion brewing alone didn’t make a president. “We’ve got our first this weekend – we’re doing calming draughts,” mentally he made a note (again) to write up something for the bulletin board.

[John Homme]

Grimacing at the thought of what they might actually be doing at Art Club, he instead shifted the focus onto Potions. Though he didn't enjoy the subject, and in fact had been so bad at it that he'd required a tutor in his fourth and fifth years, he was interested in the progress of the club, if only because someone so kind and so easy to talk to was heading it this year. Honestly, he couldn't help feeling a little bit like they were in it together. "Calming draughts?" he said, and shifted a little in his seat, as though growing more attentive. It was a subconscious gesture, and he was hardly aware that he'd leaned forward a little. "Are those, er, difficult to make?"

[Damocles Belby]

Damocles was no more aware that John had leaned forward than he was, but he didn't need any encouragement to discuss potions. It was a subject that he could have discussed at length until he was blue in the face. Discussing potions had never been his problem; it was his inability to recognise that not everyone had the same extensive knowledge on the subject as he that led him to being prone to getting caught up in his own verbal musings and leaving others behind in the conversation. Calming draughts had seemed like an appropriate way to kickstart the club - but he had never stopped to consider their difficulty. Doing so now he chewed mindlessly on his bottom lip as he lost himself in thought, his eyes drifting over John's shoulder and to the sprawling view of the grounds outside the nearest window.

"Reasonably," he snapped back to the conversation with as little warning as he had drifted off into thought, the smile returning to his face as he looked back at John, "They require a steady hand and a great deal of concentration -- but as long as they're given your undivided attention the method is rather straight forward."

[John Homme]

If he noticed the other's attention wandering, John didn't really show it. Often given to long periods of thought, if not introspection, he also slipped off into his own little private tangent. He'd never been good at Potions -- had been bad enough to require a tutor, actually -- and couldn't really imagine doing it as a hobby, or for fun. Memories of his shoddily measured ingredients and foul-smelling mistakes in stirring (it was always a little confusing with the clockwise and counterclockwise, for John) had him frowning just slightly, embarrassed for no reason, by the time Damocles spoke again.

"Oh, I'd be no good then," he replied easily, and gave a small laugh. He tried not to show that the other suddenly speaking again had startled him, and so his eyes remained a bit more rounded than usual for a few more moments -- attempting poorly to make it look natural. "What's next, do you think?"